ROYGBIV
by Citrine Nebulae
Summary: A series of color-based, Death Note snapshots, beginning in blood.
1. Red

**Red**

* * *

_"The true color of life is the color of the body, the color of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest color of the unpublished blood." -Alice Meynell_

_Red has more personal associations than any other color. Recognized as a stimulant, red is inherently exciting and the amount of red is directly related to the level of energy perceived. Red draws attention and a keen use of red as an accent can immediately focus attention on a particular element._

_Increases enthusiasm_

_Stimulates energy and can increase the blood pressure, respiration, heartbeat, and pulse rate_

_Encourages action and confidence_

_Provides a sense of protection from fears and anxiety_

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This chapter is dedicated to Ratt9, who writes the best insane Beyond Birthday I've ever read. :)

* * *

Beyond Birthday smiled and crossed his toes, deliriously happy about something no spectator could see, for it was _his_, all his doing. He felt a giggle rise in his throat, turning his heart hot. He tried to hold it down but it bubbled from between his chapped lips. It was a lively sound, full of unadulterated glee, but it was skewed.

Beyond Birthday was skewed. They'd told him. But Beyond Birthday knew they were wrong, because L was not skewed. If L had been skewed, Beyond Birthday would have been extremely skewed. As it was, L was a genius, and that made B an extreme genius.

_A murderer_, they argued.

Not a _murderer_. Beyond just wanted to poke and prod his favorite subject. That was all. He'd done it multiple times, with other subjects – just taken a peek inside. Even if some of his experiments had failed, it was a beautiful art, and Beyond was the illustrious grand master.

He uncrossed his toes and flexed them in agitation. He was _bored. _He slumped down a bit, disheartened. He missed poking and prodding. All he had left was remembering - sweet memories.

He remembered the purple blotches just beneath the skin of the woman's arm. It had been disappointing. But he'd finished her off, yes he did, ol' B got the job done.

All at once, the giggles returned to him; he held his breath, pushing his cheeks out like a goldfish. First he'd turn red, he knew, then blue, then purple. And not long after, he'd go white, white, white. Beyond had seen a lot of death. Yes, you'd turn white, hard, cold. Ugly. He knew the stages of dying. He'd seen the difference between the moment breathing ceased, and the moment the brain actually turned off, like the flick of a switch. The eyeballs would actually flatten, only five minutes after death, until they were grey and dull. And then the body would start to shrink in on itself.

Beyond loved watching the vibrant red stream of life run out until they were dead, dead, dead as a doornail.

Beyond let his breath out and shook his head wildly, the jagged ends of his hair flopping.

"Woof," he chuckled, and settled back against the wall.

That had been an interesting experiment, the internal hemorrhaging. It had failed. That was okay. He'd still managed to convey his meaning well enough. After the victim failed to die, he'd just severed the right leg and left arm; she'd died from blood loss.

And then there had been the little girl. _Bad enough to kill an adult,_ B thought, amused, _but a child. Unforgivable._ She'd been unconscious when she was killed. Drugged, then bludgeoned, the front of her head stoved in. _Blunt force trauma to the head_, the reports said. How boring. It was much more than that. It was exhilaration. After the first few strikes, Beyond hadn't been aware that his arm continued to rise and fall. He just kept his mouth closed (B was a lot of things, but never a cannibal) and held on tight for the ride.

Beyond dropped his chin so it rested on his chest. He crossed his eyes and chewed the tip of his tongue. Then he focused on his toes, raising his eyebrows a bit. He scissored his legs slowly, feeling a smirk curl its way onto his lips. He was making a snow angel in his cell, for the floor was white and soft as snow. He occupied his body with this diverting task, but allowed his eyes to close as he imagined.

The man had opened the door to his room when Beyond had pounced, animal-like. Beyond liked messes, but in this case, it was unnecessary. The man had been drugged before Beyond had looped the rope over his head. He'd also been unconscious as his last strangled breath hissed out.

Beyond entertained himself with this recollection, and then picked his head up off of his chest and, with difficulty, wormed his way back up into a better sitting position. He frowned in distant annoyance at his Halloween costume – the rough material that he was wearing, pinning his arms over his chest. It was restrictive, such a nuisance. But it was mostly the distasteful color that bothered him. White. Dull, quaint, unspecial. He hated it. If he had to wear the silly thing, why couldn't it be a color with personality, like a deep, passionate red?

Oh well. He _was_ fond of costumes, and he would still get his treats.

* * *

**Next: Orange**


	2. Orange

**Orange**

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_"Orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow." - Wassily Kandinsky_

_With its enthusiasm for life, the color orange relates to adventure and risk-taking, inspiring physical confidence, competition and independence. In relation to the meaning of colors, orange is extroverted and uninhibited, often encouraging exhibitionism or, at the very least, showing-off! The color orange relates to social communication, stimulating two way conversations. A warm and inviting color, it is both physically and mentally stimulating, so it gets people thinking and talking!_

_Orange offers emotional strength in difficult times. It helps us to bounce back from disappointments and despair, assisting in recovery from grief._

* * *

**A/N: I know the pacing is skewed in relation to how the events actually happened.**

* * *

The sky was the color of heaved sick, if the heaver in question had been gorging themselves on radioactive mangoes. Mello glanced as far to the left and back as he could manage in the bulky motorcycle helmet. The Chevy Chevelle was a comforting sight in the other lane. He knew that a convoy of black escorts was following him, but he could only hear them. A semi-truck accelerated slightly, pulling alongside him.

"Matt." He spoke into a communication unit on the interior of his helmet.

"Mello." His receiver crackled as Matt responded. Mello heard the click of the lighter after the syllable. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Probably had his stupid handheld riding shotgun.

"Drop back. You'll need to wait until I've pulled up and Takada's out of the car."

Matt knew. They'd gone over the plan in painstaking detail, but Matt's thumbs had been fused to his handheld at the time, so there was no way of knowing how much he'd absorbed.

"Roger dodger," came his childish, slightly sarcastic answer.

The Chevelle was lost to Mello as it fell back behind the edge of his vision.

Mello leaned the bike, turning into the lot. He passed the crowd waiting in front of the building, turning his head slightly to scan it. He halted the bike. Mello gripped the throttle tightly but surely as Takada stepped out of one of the cars, cameras flashing blindingly.

Mello heard the lighter click again.

Takada was almost midway into the building, surrounded on all sides by the crowd and her staff. She raised her hand to wave.

"Matt," Mello growled warningly.

"I'm here, I'm here."

The Chevelle roared into the parking lot, tires screaming.

Pandemonium. A smoke wall exploded in the midst of them, and Mello heard screaming from the crowd and shouting from Takada's frenzied staff and bodyguards. The woman herself was shoved away from the worst of it by a blonde bodyguard.

"Nice aim," Mello complimented grudgingly. It was true - the smoke was perfectly obtrusive, forcing Takada's bodyguard to push her towards the building.

"That was nothing. Watch this."

The Chevelle fishtailed and screeched out of the lot, skidding around the corner and out of sight impressively, leaving the confused staff shouting into communication devices. This time, Mello did roll his eyes, concealed by the dark orange visor in his helmet. He hit the throttle and hooked around, coming to a stop at the mouth of the building.

"Don't do it!" he shouted at Takada and her blonde bodyguard's back. "Take a look around! It's not safe for her here!" Smoke billowed around them, cutting them off from the rest of Takada's protection. The blonde woman was staring at him sharply, analyzing his opaque visor. Mello gritted his teeth. "Not even inside. It's best if you get her away from here right now. Ms. Takada, get on." The bike moved forward slightly as Mello gestured to the seat behind him. "Now!"

Takada hesitated, then took her place in the seat, wrapping her arms around his middle. He twisted the throttle once more, and sped away from the chaos, onto the busy road. The black cars matched their speed, attempting to box them in. Mello smirked and leaned to the left, roaring across the lane effortlessly, into an alley.

Mello reached into the saddlebag of his motorcycle and seized Takada's wrist, clicking a pair of handcuffs into place.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded.

Mello didn't answer her, but spoke quietly into his comms.

"How does it look, Matty?"

Matt's comms unit shrieked momentarily. Mello winced.

"Goin' good," Matt responded around his cigarette. "Those idiots – oh."

"What?"

The comms unit crackled harshly again, causing Mello's ears to ring.

"Damn it, Matt –"

The sound cut off again.

"Hey, come on!" Mello heard Matt's dry voice shout. "Give me a break! Since when were the Japanese allowed to carry around such big guns?" Mello's lungs may have collapsed then and there. Matt had been cut off somewhere, and now he was caught. He'd probably be taken into custody and questioned. Mello would have to deal with that later. The thought amused him some – Mello to the rescue. "You got me," Matt's drawling voice went on. "I'm part of this whole kidnapping incident. That means you'll have a lot of questions to ask."

Mello's lips curled. Matt was immune to interrogation and torture – he'd lived with Mello for years in an orphanage, and months in a shitty, rundown apartment building.

Matt taunted, "You won't shoot –"

Mello's smile was a ghost on his face now. Noise filled the comms unit, but it wasn't loud. It was dull and foggy, like he was hearing it from through a wall.

"Matt?" he said after a few moments, when the comms settled.

There was no answer.

"Matt!" Mello gritted his teeth. The idiot was picking now of all times to play a prank? He should be reeling off information – where he had been caught, how many of them there were, and when Mello himself could expect company.

"Matt!" he shouted it this time, forgetting that Takada was behind him, whimpering quietly. "MATT, YOU MORON, ANSWER ME OR I'LL KICK YOUR SKINNY ASS SO HARD YOU'LL BE COUGHING UP TOENAILS!"

He was met with a great big nothing.

Mello's hands clenched on the throttle and it roared as the bike jerked forward, going faster. He blinked a few times, rapidly, trying to moisten his eyes, which had gone curiously dry. Very carefully, he took one hand off the bike and reached up into his helmet with a gloved hand. He ripped the comms device out of the helmet and flicked his eyes down to his palm to stare at it. He clenched it in his fist and returned his eyes to the road, into the horizon. The shitty orange sunset was almost completely squashed by the curtain of night. Looking into it, he blinked again and loosened his fist slightly. He felt the comms unit slip out and he didn't care enough to figure it probably met its end under the tires of the car behind him. Behind the visor, his eyes fixated themselves on the orange in front of him. And surprisingly enough, he felt a something that was not _nothing_, not _exactly_. It was not acceptance, because it was not, and it was not grief, because it was not.

* * *

**Next: Yellow**

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**A/N: They won't all be dark and sad, promise.  
**


	3. Yellow

**Yellow**

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"_Whether the flower or the color is the focus I do not know. I do know the flower is painted large to convey my experience with the flower – and what is my experience if it is not the color." –Georgia O'Keeffe_

_Yellow shines with optimism, enlightenment, and happiness. Shades of golden yellow carry the promise of a positive future. Yellow will advance from surrounding colors and instill optimism and energy, as well as spark creative thoughts._

_Stimulates mental processes_

_Stimulates the nervous system_

_Activates memory_

_Encourages communication_

* * *

Dedicated to Rachel, who is my dandelion sunshine. ;)

* * *

Sachiko Yagami picked her head up out of her hands and sighed heavily.

_How things have fallen apart._

She glanced at the half-open door to her right, making sure she wasn't in the room's line of sight. She had been advised by stuffy doctors and sympathetic nurses to not let Sayu see any negative actions for fear she may never recover. No – Sayu was to be kept away from the sighing, the tears, the pain, and the knowledge that both her father and brother were dead.

Meanwhile, Sachiko had to feel everything for the both of them behind half-open _(half-closed?)_ doors.

She closed her eyes briefly, collecting herself, and grimaced as she stood. She hadn't been doing much of that lately. When she wasn't caring for Sayu, she'd been sitting. And sleeping. She slept in her spare time now. When her slumber was dreamless, it was freedom from thinking. From feeling the emotions of utter loss, dejection, and hopelessness of two people. But then there were times when her waking thoughts would manifest themselves in her dreams. She hated when that happened. She'd wake up and her eyes would be wetting the pillow.

Sachiko hesitated at the door, composing her face into a cheery smile, then pushed it open and said, "How about a nice walk?"

Sayu didn't answer, of course. She didn't even look up. Didn't even blink.

The familiar flash of dread hit Sachiko, like always, upon seeing her unresponsiveness. Some part of her expected things to be as they were years ago, before the family was ripped apart. Every time she opened the door, she'd have a fleeting moment of hopefulness; that Sayu might look up and give her mother a smile, and everything would just _be_ again.

Sachiko's pause lasted for only a moment before she shook her head and remembered to smile. She stepped around the wheelchair, gripped the handles, and pushed Sayu's chair out of the room.

"It's a beautiful day!" Sachiko tried to exclaim when they were outside. Her excitement came out false, but her statement had been as true as it could've been - the air was fresh and the blue sky seemed a dome of a painted-on arabesque of cloudworks. The soft fringe of Sayu's hair stirred gently in the breeze, and Sachiko bit her own lip. The pair strolled down to the end of the drive, where Sachiko stopped. Then she did something she'd never done before – perhaps it was because Sayu's catatonia seemed heavier today, and Sachiko felt some need to go to extensive lengths in order to cope, but she walked around to the front of the wheelchair and sat down with her knees folded underneath her in the long grass speckled with dandelions.

She raised her head to look up into Sayu's face, and felt a shiver go through her. Her everpretty countenance was not drawn as Sachiko's was, but as lovely and fresh as frosted flower petal. Even though her mouth was blank and emotionless, it was still shaped like someone who hadn't ever had to frown, or never had a reason to. Her delicate nostrils quavered, almost charming, as she breathed. Her brown eyes hadn't appeared to have changed . They were still wide and bright, but Sachiko – the only one left in the entire world who was close enough to her to decipher them – knew that they'd lost their inquisitive spark, and that adoring gleam she'd used to look up at her family with.

Feeling the beginnings of tears burning in the corner of her eyes, Sachiko dropped her head quickly, so Sayu wouldn't see. She pressed her lips together and leaned forward, fingering the stem of a dandelion, then plucked it and brought it to her breast, just beside her heart. She stroked the pedals with her other hand.

She brought herself up onto her knees, so she was even with Sayu. When she spoke, her voice was shaky with reminiscent emotion.

"Sayu, darling, don't you remember when you and Light would go to the park when you were little? These flowers would be everywhere. Light would roll his eyes and call them weeds, but you loved them." Sachiko raised the dandelion delicately, so it was underneath the skin of Sayu's chin. "If you have a yellow spot right here, it means the flower likes you." Sachiko leaned forward to check. "Look! This flower likes you!"

Sachiko smiled, a little bit sadly. She was about to bring the dandelion away when something touched her hand. Her breath froze and died in her throat. She looked down to see a pale hand resting over her own, and another gently cupping the stem of the flower. Her heart turned molten and her eyes darted back up to Sayu's face.

Sayu's eyes were smiling at her mother, and her lips were smiling too.

* * *

**Next: Green**

**^ which I have no ideas for. Help.  
**


	4. Green

**A/N: We are all very fortunate that I had the thought to save the entire completed document an instant before my dog set his head on the keyboard. He's a big dog. Now I need to go down and delete 30 pages of odd, scattered +s.**

**This was literally done in one sitting, an instant after I got the idea out of nowhere. I actually typed it up before my homework. I dunno. I guess it's the best I could do. Ideas seem to be evading me lately. xD  
**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Green**

Ryuk went incorporeal and poked his head through the vent. He looked high and low. No cameras.

He withdrew from the vent and looked around fervently. No Light.

Which meant Ryuk had the house almost-to-himself. He chuckled, but then shook his head a little in embarrassment. _Almost-to-himself_. He'd have to be careful of Light, who was probably in the bathroom down the hall, doing his hair for the eighth time that day. He chuckled quietly instead.

Then he slowly drifted down through the floor, landing in the kitchen. As he thought: there was no one there. Light's mother and sister were out. His father was never around anyway.

Ryuk, feeling quite diabolical, drifted over to the fruit bowl. There were several apples and an assortment of other fruit Ryuk didn't care about.

Only the apples. Juicy, sweet, delicious, red glory.

But what was this?

Ryuk spotted an unfamiliar color in the bunch. He glanced over his shoulder furtively, to make sure Light hadn't come downstairs. Seeing nothing, he turned his attention back to the fruitbowl. He picked up a red apple and peered down.

Green.

Eyes shining, he reached forward and seized the green object.

It was an apple.

Awed, he turned it over in his ringed hands. He held it up to his eyes.

"Granny Smith…" he mumbled, seeing the small sticker.

He'd never seen a green apple. He'd had no idea they came in anything other than red. How does one make a green apple?

And then came hesitancy.

One was red, and one was green. Which one was correct? Had he been living a lie? Ryuk didn't know what to think. He didn't know how to deal with a green apple. Would they taste the same? Why were they different colors?

He scratched his chin, thinking. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. After all, humans came in different colors. So did shinigami.

But no. That wasn't a good thing to compare it to. Each human was different. Look at Light and L. One of them had to be correct, didn't they? But Ryuk didn't much care what either of them thought. He puzzled the same thing over with shinigami.

What did he, Ryuk, want? Ryuk wanted apples.

Ryuk slapped himself mentally. But it was true. Ryuk wanted apples more than anything.

Now, what did, say…Deridovely want?

Deridovely was an idiot.

Armonia Justin Beyondormason was better compared to Ryuk. They were both smart. But Ryuk was, if he did think so himself, considerably better looking.

It was settled. Ryuk wanted apples, and Armonia Justin Beyondormason wanted to be as good looking as Ryuk. Now, that made them different shinigami.

What makes a different apple? Is it color, or is it not? What's in a red apple versus a green apple? That which we call an apple by any other color would taste as heavenly? Ryuk slapped himself again.

He needed to focus! This was a very serious matter!

Ryuk looked down at the small green fruit settled in his palm once again. He could just taste it…that would solve the whole predicament. But he still didn't know why there had to be two kinds. To confuse him? Or because he was being fooled? Someone was plotting against him! Light! That arrogant she-boy was behind it! Ryuk _would not_ be fooled by Light. He would show him.

Ryuk brought the apple to his mouth confidently. He jerked his head violently, taking a great ripping bite out of it. Triumphant, he crunched it up in his mouth. Juice burst from it and Ryuk concentrated on the taste.

Just as Light walked down the stairs, Ryuk's eyes watered and his taste buds shriveled.

"-our!" Ryuk yelled, hopping up and down on the spot.

"What?" Light mouthed, looking panicked.

"Sour!" Ryuk howled. He spit the chewed apple out of his mouth. It rocketed across the kitchen and hit a wall, ricocheting off of it. Light dodged it, a disgusted look on his face. Ryuk stuck his tongue out of his mouth and clawed at it, scratching the surface, trying to get the sour out of his mouth.

"Of course it's sour. It's a green apple," he mouthed.

"Aie dib oo twick meh!?" Ryuk said, still scraping his tongue.

"Why did I trick you?" Light questioned, having to pantomime a bit to get his meaning across without speaking.

"Auh!"

Light shook his head, sneering. Ryuk took that to mean: _I didn't trick you. _

"Auh oo dib! Oo waye! En oo rifespah is uhp, Imma kull oo!"

Light rolled his eyes and headed back up the stairs, leaving Ryuk in the kitchen with the chewed up apple bits.

* * *

Next: Blue.

^ Also no ideas for.


End file.
